Title Track

There’s a total lack of clarity as vomit splashes over my shoes, my heart sinks to the floor, he’s falling over, the guy with the hair is pulling him up, yelling at me to do something to help.

Everything is louder, brighter, harder to understand because that face as looking at me, all sunken in and bloodshot.

I continue to stand still.

That is, until Patrick comes running up in his gold vest, pushing me out of the way, and sits Ryan up.

Patrick yells at me to get a mop and bucket, and I may have forgotten how to move, and a loud shout of ‘now’ kicks me into gear and I rush to the custodian’s closet, packed with pine scented cleansers and a dirty mop.

I don’t want to go back out there.

“Jon,” I yell, running into the kitchen.

“Back here, Bren!” he shouts in reply, a greasy hand waving from behind the stove.

“Patrick needs help. Up front. Rya-- a customer threw up, but I need to go-- I can’t stay. Could you--?”

“Don’t say another word. I’ll be out there in a minute. You just go and calm down, okay?”

I breathed through my mouth, loud and moist, “Yeah. Thanks.”

I go to the bathroom.

My breathing is rushed, and I smell like vomit, and I may start throwing up, myself.

//

I manage to get myself home, my heart far from my chest.

My eyes are red, and I feel so sick.

I’m clutching a wrinkled piece of paper in my hands; not looking at it, barely acknowledging that it’s there.

someday you will be loved.

Right in front of me.

I could have reached out and touched him.

All of four feet away, after three years, and he was right there.

I wondered briefly if he saw a mangled mess of alcohol and cigarettes when he looked at me.

I saw him exactly the same. Despite the aging, the change of clothing style, and the sunken face, he was exactly the same.

It was horrifying, the change of sound and sight the minute, the second I saw him.

I kind of wished I could do it again.